Page 60 of Neighbor from Hell
The apples in the tarte tatin catch the candlelight and glisten as my footmen pour us more wine from dark, heavy bottles. We eat our tarts, our forks clinking, her laughter spilling out as a smear of caramel clings to her lip, and I fight the urge to reach across and taste her sweetness mingled with the dessert’s. Her eyes meet mine, and the moment stretches, the air between us thick with unspoken need, with a quiet promise.
When the plates are bare, I stand, offering her my hand, my fingers tingling as she takes it, her palm warm, her sandals whispering on the hardwood as she rises.
“Ready to check the progress in your cottage?” I ask.
She nods, her smile wide, unguarded, and we step out into the night, the manor’s lights dazzling behind us. The air is crisp, laced with the scent of cut grass and distant night-flowering plants. We walk side by side, our steps crunching on the gravel path, the darkness cloaking us in a hush that feels intimate, like we’re the only two people left in the world.
I’m hyper-aware of her—her dress swaying with each step, her arm so close I can feel its warmth. My chest feels tight, like I’m twenty again, fumbling through a moment too big for me. My arm brushes hers, a graze at first, accidental, then deliberate, my skin seeking hers, and each touch—a brush of elbow, a nudge of wrist—ignites a spark, a heat I can’t douse. She doesn’t pull away. Her silence is permission. It makes my heart thud, heavy and full of hope and anticipation.
We reach the cottage, its silhouette jagged against the starry sky, scaffolding clinging to its walls like a skeletal embrace. I take her hand, my voice laced with surprising concern and affection.
“Careful. There’s debris everywhere.” We step inside and she flicks on the light switch. It hits me, a tidal wave of memory: last night, her body beneath mine, her moans loud and desperate, the way we burned together, raw and unstoppable. I want it again, want her, my hands aching to pull her close, to peel that dress from her skin and lose myself in her, but I clench my jaw, my breath shallow, because I won’t take advantage, won’t risk the trust she’s giving me.
I guide her through, pointing out the changes.
“Wow! They’re so much faster than I could have ever dreamed of being,” she says. “What a relief it is to know the cottage is going to be restored to its original charm.”
We wander to her bedroom, the room stripped to its bones—studs, subfloor, a skeleton of what it was. “Want to head back to the manor?” I ask, my voice rough, strained, and she looks at me, her eyes soft and searching, a flicker of something I can’t read.
“Yeah,” she says quietly.
We step out. The night is a deeper shade of black now, the stars sharp and countless. We walk back in the still electric silence, the manor’s golden glow a beacon in the dark. We’re alone, drawn to each other, our steps in sync, her scent—lavender, warm—teasing me, pulling me closer. Her dress brushes my leg, a whisper of fabric, and I feel it, the throbbing need.
Inside the manor, the halls are dim, our shadows stretching long across the marble floor, the grand staircase rising before us. We climb together, our steps soft, almost reverent, and at the landing, where her room waits in the west wing, she pauses.
“I guess this is where we call it a night,” she says, her voice light, but there’s an edge, a question, and her eyes lock on mine, bold, warm, daring me to answer.
I stare, my breath shallow, and let a smile curl my lips, slow, deliberate, testing the charged space between us. “Yes, unless you don’t want to,” I say, my voice rough, my blood roaring in my ears. I hold still, every muscle taut, waiting for her to decide, to show me what she’s offering.
She steps closer, closing the gap, her heat radiating through the thin fabric of her dress. Her eyes hold me, unflinching, a fire in their depths. She rises on her toes, her arms wrapping around my shoulders, her fingers digging into my flesh, and her body presses against mine, molding her soft curves to my body.
Her lips crash into me, long and deep, a kiss that’s sweet and intoxicating like the wine we shared. It consumes me, a blaze that licks up my spine, and I groan, raw and low, my hands finding her ass, gripping the firm flesh through her dress, pulling her tight, grinding her against my hard cock. The friction is a sweet agony that makes me almost dizzy with need.
Her tongue tangles with mine, hot and urgent, and I taste the wine, the burnt caramel of the tarte and the delicious taste of her, but it’s not enough. It’s never enough with her. I lift her, my hands under her thighs, and her legs immediately wrap around my waist, locking tight, her dress rucking up to reveal smooth, bare skin that burns under my palms.
We’re kissing, desperate, ravenous, our mouths clashing, teeth scraping, as we move down the hall, her sandals dangling from her feet, one falling with a soft thud. My shirt’s half-unbuttoned, her fingers tearing at the fabric, buttons popping, exposing my chest, while my hands shove her dress higher, bunching it at her hips, my fingers brushing the lace of her underwear, damp and warm, making me growl into her mouth. We reach her room, and I slam the door shut behind us.
I press her against it, her back arching. Her feet touch the floor and she breaks the kiss, her breath ragged.
She pushes me back, her hands firm on my chest, guiding me until the backs of my knees hit the bed. I sink onto it, the silky sheets cool against my back, a stark contrast to the heat pouring off her as she stands before me, her dress askew, her hair wild, her lips swollen from our kiss. She kneels between my legs, her hands quick, almost frantic, tugging at my belt. The leather snaps free, and then she yanks down my pants and boxers in one swift pull.
My cock springs out, hard and heavy, pulsing with need.
She stares, mesmerized, her eyes wide, pupils blown, her lips parting as she takes me in, the sight of her awe hitting me like afist, making me even harder, if that’s possible. Her fingers wrap around me, her touch a spark that ignites every nerve, her palm soft but firm, stroking once, twice, until I’m trembling like a fucking leaf.
Her mouth follows, warm and wet, covering me, her lips stretching around my tip, her tongue swirling, slow and searing.
My head falls back, my hands fisting the sheets as a low groan rips from my throat. There are very few things in life I have to admit I love more than this. I really didn’t think it was possible to be more mesmerized with her than I was, but this moment proves me wrong.
Her red mouth slides down, taking me deeper, her tongue pressing against the underside, her teeth grazing just enough to make me shudder. The sweetness of her, the heat of her mouth, the way she hums, the vibration shooting through me—it’s too much, and I’m lost, utterly lost, my hips bucking, my hand tangled in her fair hair.
Chapter
Forty-One
LAUREN
The way his thick, heavy cock fills my mouth is so unbelievably sexy.
